Having slept through sun’s rise and fall
(a sensitivity to light and day’s harsh reality)—

I awaken, strike familiar match,
let candle burn - nocturnal
uncertainties illuminated by
fragile flame
frayed wick
running wax.

Obtuse thoughts worm their way
into night’s supposed deliverance.
Damn remembrance drips, forms
pool of hot liquid
pain that would
extinguish me.

Having braved fire of present pain, I close
my eyes, drift back into sleep’s sweet dark.

Art - Digital Designs by Dawn, Copyright 2002